


love you like coffee in the morning

by thespacenico



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Artist Keith, Barista Lance, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 06:29:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18405026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespacenico/pseuds/thespacenico
Summary: “So you can draw?”Keith wrinkles his nose—which, howdarehe do something so cute in Lance’s immediate presence when he runs the risk of collapsing on the spot. “More like I try to draw.”Lance laughs, and Keith’s mouth curls up into a smile and—okay, so maybe he does tuck his hair behind his ear a lot now that Lance thinks about it. “I bet you’re amazing. You’ll have to show me sometime.”Keith’s face flushes a little and he quickly looks away. “Uh—yeah. Maybe. Sometime.”





	love you like coffee in the morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghozting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghozting/gifts).



> if this seems rushed that's because it is and i literally wrote this in a day for therapeutic reasons
> 
> this is for [cato](https://www.ghozting.tumblr.com/) and also [anna](https://www.lujanne.tumblr.com/) because i've been having a rough time lately and they make everything infinitely easier to deal with

Lance sighs internally as he scribbles the name of the fourth _Hannah_ today across the top of a cup, offering the girl a tight smile when he hands back her change.

The second that she walks away, Lance slithers down to squat behind the register, pressing his forehead against the wooden cabinet with a groan.

Long story short, it’s been a rough morning.

“How ya doin down there, buddy?” Hunk asks, already steaming the milk for the drink Lance had just passed over.

“I’m tired of coffee,” Lance mutters miserably. “I’m tired of—people.”

“You?” Hunk gasps, feigning shock. “Lance McClain? Tired of people? Never.”

“Most people don’t even have time to say hello, apparently!” Lance whines, dragging himself back up and tossing his elbows onto the counter. “I can’t even get in a ‘Hi, welcome to Altea Café’ before they’re yelling their coffee order at me!”

Hunk gives him the side-eye as he pours the milk into the espresso and pops a lid on top of the cup. “I think you’re just pouting because you haven’t seen Mr. Leather Jacket Guy yet.”

Lance sputters as Hunk calls out the drink and starts wiping down the counter. “Wh—Mr. Leather—who? What are you—“

“What’s his name?” Hunk asks innocently. “Kirk? Kenneth?”

“His name is _Keith—“_ Lance starts, and then snaps his mouth shut when Hunk grins. He sputters some more. “This proves nothing!”

Hunk just hums, twirling away to continue cleaning the counter.

Lance turns back to the front of the store, grumbling to himself. “Mr. Leather Jacket Guy,” he scoffs. “Pouting. I’m not _pouting—“_

Some movement at the entrance of the store catches his attention and he sighs, mentally preparing himself for the next customer. But when he finally looks up, he immediately straightens, eyes locking onto the person approaching the register.

Because there, backpack slung over one shoulder, long hair falling into the most gorgeous kaleidoscopic eyes Lance has ever seen, is Mr. Leather Jacket Guy. Or Keith, for short.

Lance tries for his brightest smile. “Hey!”

Keith smiles back, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. “Hi. How’s it going?”

 _Wow,_ Lance thinks. _Pretty sure he’s the first person today who’s bothered to ask._

“Pretty good,” Lance shrugs, despite his complaints only a moment before. “What about you?”

“It’s been a long morning,” Keith admits. “I really need some caffeine.”

“Triple-shot latte with whole milk, right?” Lance asks, already reaching for a cup.

Keith blinks, surprised, and then his cheeks flush a light shade of pink and he tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear, and Lance tries not to stare because _oh my god, that was so cute. That was_ so _cute,_ _oh my_ god—

“Am I really here that often?” Keith chuckles.

Hunk appears beside Lance and clears his throat. Lance stomps on his foot before Hunk squeaks and shuffles back away. “I just have a really good memory.”

“Do you remember my name, then?”

Lance freezes. _Oh god oh god oh god, okay chill out, don’t be so obvious—_

“Uh.” He clears his throat. “Um… Kenneth?”

He definitely should have just guessed his actual name, because Keith giggles— _how can someone with freaking ear piercings and black nail polish and a leather jacket be so_ cute—and shakes his head. “Pretty close, I guess? It’s Keith.”

“Oh,” Lance says, voice a bit high-pitched. “Right! Yeah.” He manages to tear his gaze away long enough to scrawl his name across the cup.

Keith pays for his drink, and it’s possible that Lance screams internally when their hands brush as he’s handing back his change.

“See you next time, then,” Keith smiles, tucking the same piece of hair behind his ear when it slips out. “Thanks, Lance.”

Lance is sort of glad that Keith chooses to walk away at that point because his mind is still reeling from the fact that Keith—knows his _name._

As soon as Keith receives his drink from Hunk and exits the store, Lance skips over to Hunk and slaps his hands on his shoulders. _“Hunk._ Did you hear that? He knows my name.” He tries to shake him for emphasis, but it doesn’t do much. “Leather Jacket Guy knows my name!”

Hunk stares at him for a moment, and then carefully pushes Lance’s hands back down to his sides and pats his head. “You have a name tag.”

Lance looks down at the name tag pinned to the front of his apron. “Irrelevant!” he declares, and Hunk rolls his eyes, although he smiles.

“You’ve got it bad, huh?”

“What?” Lance folds his arms over his chest. “He’s cute, okay? Sue me.”

“Maybe next time,” Hunk jokes, shoving a milk carton into the fridge and kicking it closed. “Although if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he thinks the same thing about you.”

Lance blanks. “Huh?”

Hunk laughs a little, wiping his hands on his apron. “Really, dude? Didn’t you see the way he kept tucking his hair behind his ear?”

_Obviously! How could I not! It’s so cute I want to be the one tucking hair behind his ear!_

“No?” Lance lies.

“He totally thinks you’re cute.”

“But—“ Lance fumbles with his words. “Whatever! Don’t get my hopes up, Hunk!”

“When has my intuition ever failed you, Lance?”

Lance considers this, however reluctantly. “It hasn’t,” he mumbles.

“Exactly,” Hunk nods agreeably. He spins Lance around and nudges him forward. “Now go help the customer that just walked in.”

 

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

 

Not that Lance particularly dislikes his job—he loves it really, it’s an easy to way to meet a lot of people and make a lot of friends—but the one thing that gets him through his long morning shifts is looking forward to when he sees Keith.

Especially on the worst days, when Lance—a hungry, cranky, sleep-deprived college student—has spent all morning taking orders from other hungry, cranky, sleep-deprived college students. Keith is always like a fresh breath of air, always smiling and always politely asking how his morning has been before Lance writes down his drink order and Keith pays and moves along.

Most of the time Keith buys his drink and leaves, but every once in a while he sets up in the corner of the shop and hunches over a textbook and his laptop and types away. Maybe Hunk has to scold him a few times for staring, but he can’t keep Lance from wondering (maybe a bit obsessively) what Keith is studying.

“When are you gonna make a move, anyway?” Hunk asks one morning, after the initial rush has died down and he’s practicing his latte art. Keith has already come and gone, even offering a small wave back at Lance as he’d left. “He’s obviously interested in you.”

Lance groans. “How do you _know?”_

“The hair thing, Lance. He only does it when he’s talking to you.”

“How do you know!” Lance repeats, sprawling himself over the counter. “It’s not like we see him anywhere else on campus other than here. Plus, we don’t even know if he’s—not straight.”

Hunk sighs, pushing Lance’s body out of the way to rinse a steaming pitcher out in the sink. “You’re telling me you haven’t seen the gay pride pin on his backpack?”

Lance shoots up, hands splayed on the counter. “What?”

“You’re so oblivious,” Hunk mutters, nudging Lance aside with a playful smile.

And sure enough, the next time that Keith comes in while Lance is working, there’s a gay pride pin, clear as day, on the outside of his backpack when he turns to leave. Lance gawks at it before Hunk pushes his mouth closed and redirects his attention to the next customer.

“He could just be an ally,” Lance muses later, out of the blue.

Hunk sighs. “Honestly, Lance. It’s like you _don’t_ want to have a chance.”

“I’m just being realistic!”

The wet rag that Hunk’s been using to clean the syrups drops onto the counter with a thump, and Hunk levels him with a suspicious look. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of asking him out.”

Lance squawks indignantly. “I’m not scared!”

Hunk eyes him, unconvinced.

“Look, it’s just—” Lance crosses his arms and Hunk nods, looking far too pleased with himself. “I don’t wanna make things weird!” Lance huffs. “What if he’s not interested and then he has to like, avoid coming in while I’m working so it’s not awkward? Or I might have to start working the night shift, and—oh my god Hunk, I can’t work the night shift with James, I really can’t—“

“First of all,” Hunk interrupts him, shoving a freshly made latte into Lance’s hands. “I’ve already told you, he’s definitely interested. Second of all, even if he’s not, it won’t be weird! It’s flattering to know someone likes you.”

Lance makes a noise of despair, dropping his forehead to the lid of the coffee cup. “Yeah, but Hunk—“

“You’ll never know if you never try,” Hunk says, patting his back. “Now please go take your break. You’re stressing me out.”

 

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

 

It’s a Wednesday morning. One of the worst days to work, in Lance’s humble opinion, because it’s the middle of the week and deadlines are coming up and that’s when college students get antsy.

But this particular Wednesday is different, because this is the day that Lance is going to make his move. He’s spent all week working up the courage to write his number on Keith’s cup (which is probably against policy, but whatever, this is a special case), with constant encouragement from Hunk.

“Should I write it on his cup now and have it ready for when  he comes later?” Lance wonders aloud, pacing back and forth behind the counter when the first rush has died down.

“He might not check his cup,” Hunk replies through a mouthful of croissant.

Lance stops where he is and turns to pout. “But if I do it while he’s standing there, he’ll get suspicious.”

“He’ll get curious,” Hunk corrects. “And that’ll make him look at his cup when I pass it out to him.”

“Hm. I guess.”

Hunk straightens suddenly. “Speaking of Keith.”

Lance frowns and spins around to follow Hunk’s line of sight, narrowly avoiding squawking out loud at the sight of Keith walking into the store. “Places, places!” He pushes Hunk over to the espresso machine, snatching the leftover croissant and shoving it into his hands while Hunk grumbles.

“Okay,” Lance mutters to himself, grabbing one of the Sharpies from their stash of pens. “Be cool.”

He flashes the brightest smile he can muster as Keith approaches, his heart fluttering a little at the sight of his wind-blown hair and the chipped black nail polish on his fingers that grip the strap of his backpack.

But then, before he even has the chance to open his mouth and start off with their normal ‘hello’, Keith slaps a ten dollar bill on the counter and says, “I need four shots today.”

Lance blinks at him. Hunk pretends not to be paying attention and shoves the rest of the croissant into his mouth, which is totally against protocol. “Oh. Uh—okay. Sure. Yeah, let me just—”

He fumbles a little with a cup and manages to write down Keith’s order, a bit flustered, and quickly enters it into the monitor so he can give Keith his change. Keith dumps it into his wallet and stalks away without another word, leaving Lance standing dumbfounded behind the counter.

When Hunk calls out his drink, Keith mutters a disgruntled “thank you” before scooping it up and going off to his normal corner, dumping his things onto the table and sinking into one of the chairs.

Lance is still standing frozen at the register, heart beating a little too fast but for a completely different reason than he’d been expecting. _What in the world was that?_

Hunk shuffles over to Lance’s side after a quiet moment of only the background noise of the shop, wiping lazily at the countertop. “Don’t take it personally, Lance,” he says carefully.

Lance’s eyes are still fixed on Keith’s corner, where he’s now hunched over his laptop and typing furiously. He blinks. “That—I mean, but that was weird, right? He’s never—that’s never happened before.”

“Maybe he’s having a bad day,” Hunk suggests reasonably.

“Maybe,” Lance echoes, heart sinking in his chest.

Unfortunately, the coffee shop life does not slow down for Lance’s dilemma. Every once in a while when the line has dwindled, Lance peeks over the counter to check Keith’s corner. He hasn’t moved for the two hours that he’s been crammed into his corner, coffee cup long since been emptied and sitting sadly beside his laptop.

“He seems super stressed out,” Hunk murmurs, once the line has disappeared and Lance is helping him make a couple of the drinks on the line.

Lance glances over again to see Keith running a hand through his hair, tugging a little at the ends before returning to his keyboard. “I hope he’s okay.”

Hunk pops a lid onto one of his drinks and calls the name as he slides it out onto the counter. “You should take him something.”

Lance snaps his head around. “What?”

“Take him another drink,” Hunk clarifies, sounding a little exasperated. “I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

“Or he might yell at me,” Lance sighs miserably. “Or be totally weirded out.”

“You’re killing me here,” Hunk mutters, grabbing a new cup and scribbling Keith’s name onto it before pushing it into Lance’s hands. “Just do it.”

“You _know_ Adidas is the superior athletic brand—“

“Lance!”

“Okay, okay! Jeez.”

For once, the cosmic forces of the coffee shop universe are on his side. No one comes up to order anything while Lance makes Keith’s usual drink, occasionally sneaking looks over the espresso machine as he waits for the milk to finish steaming. Hunk passes him a lid, and Lance has to try three times to pop it on right before sliding out from behind the counter, pausing nervously in front of the register.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he whispers to Hunk.

Hunk gives him two thumbs up and then ducks into the back, probably so Lance will be forced to stop stalling.

Lance sighs, fiddling a little with the strap of his apron and straightening it before starting toward Keith’s table.

Whatever Keith is doing, he is completely immersed in it, because he doesn’t even notice Lance coming, eyeing his laptop screen with a death glare. Lance comes to a stop just beside the table. “Uh, hey.”

Maybe he was too quiet, because Keith makes no sign that he heard. Lance shuffles his feet a little and glances back over his shoulder to see Hunk watching from behind the counter. Hunk makes a waving motion. Lance groans internally and turns back to Keith, leaning forward a bit.

“Hey, Keith—“

Keith starts, the pen that he’s been tapping against his chin hitting the edge of the table and falling to the floor with a clatter as Keith whips his head around, eyes widening when they land on Lance.

Lance stares back at him, eyes just as wide, coffee cup held up defensively. “Sorry!” he squeaks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you—“

“No, you didn’t—it’s fine,” Keith stammers, scrambling to pick his pen up off the floor, looking just as flustered as Lance did moments ago. “It’s not your fault—“ And then he does that _thing_ again, the thing where he tucks some hair behind his ear. “Sorry, it’s fine. Sorry.” He winces. “I was just totally zoned out.”  

Lance relaxes slightly, loosening his death grip on the cup in his hands. “Are you okay?”

Keith opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it, and finally sighs, shoulders deflating as he sinks back in his chair. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just—I have this huge project due in the next couple of days that’s nearly half my grade, and I just found out yesterday that my supposed ‘teammates’ haven’t actually been working on their parts.” He pushes a hand through his hair, a few strands falling back into his face. “I was up all night doing research for it, and I’m not even close to being finished.”

“Yikes,” Lance grimaces. “I’m sorry. That really sucks, man. What class?”

Keith freezes suddenly, gaze flicking back up to Lance. He tilts his screen down a little. “You’ll laugh.”

Lance scoffs. “Why would I laugh?”

“Because people think it’s dumb,” Keith mutters, and from the bitter undertone, it sounds more like he’s really just talking to himself. Lance wonders if it’s because people have literally told him that—whatever this is—is dumb.

“Dude,” Lance says with as much sincerity as he is physically possible of, “I promise I won’t laugh.”

Keith taps his pen against the table once. He clears his throat. “It’s for… um. Art history?” he finally answers, voice pitching up at the end as if it were a question.

Lance gapes at him. “Art hist—wait, are you an art major?” Keith nods, looking a bit self-conscious. “Dude, that’s so cool! I’ve always wanted a cool art major friend!”

Keith looks up at him, blinking. “Really?”

“Yeah!” Lance says honestly. “Seriously, you guys work insanely hard, you don’t get nearly enough credit. What focus?”

“Uh.” Keith blinks again, like the conversation just took a completely different turn than he’d previously expected. “Illustration.”

“So you can draw?”

Keith wrinkles his nose—which, how _dare_ he do something so cute in Lance’s immediate presence when he runs the risk of collapsing on the spot. “More like I try to draw.”

Lance laughs, and Keith’s mouth curls up into a smile and—okay, so maybe he does tuck his hair behind his ear a lot now that Lance thinks about it. “I bet you’re amazing. You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Keith’s face flushes a little and he quickly looks away. “Uh—yeah. Maybe. Sometime.” A short moment of awkward silence passes between them. Lance’s palms start to itch. He blinks when Keith looks back at him, eyes drifting down. “Are you on a break or something?”

Lance snaps out of his daze. “Huh?” Keith points and Lance looks down at the cup in his hands, as in, the reason he even came over here in the first place. “Oh! No, I—well, actually, this—“ He takes a deep breath and holds it out. “This is for you.”

Keith stares at the cup in his outstretched hand, lips parted slightly in obvious surprise. “Oh.”

“Sorry, I hope that’s not weird,” Lance says in a rush. “It’s just—you looked like you could use it. It just has three shots this time, because you’ve already had four and too much more espresso would probably make you explode.”

At length, after Keith has stared at the cup for a while longer, he finally reaches out and curls his fingers around the cup, and Lance lets go. “Um, thanks.” He glances over his shoulder at his backpack in the seat next to him. “How much—“

“On the house,” Lance interrupts, heart skipping a few beats when Keith looks at him again, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. “Like I said, you looked like you could use a pick-me-up.” His attention is drawn to the front of the shop when a small group of girls walks through the doors. He glances back at Keith, who’s still staring at him with a funny look on his face. “Well, I have to get back to work, but—just, let us know if you need something. Or anything.”

And with that, he spins around and starts for the counter, inwardly cursing himself for being so— _awkward._

“Wait—Lance.”

Lance immediately halts, turning back to see Keith twisted around in his chair to face him, looking almost desperate. “Yeah?”

“I just wanted to—well.” Keith seems to flounder for a moment before he takes a deep breath to compose himself. “Sorry about earlier, at the register, I—sorry, I know it’s no excuse, I was just _really_ stressed out and I took it out on you, which is totally not cool at all because you probably have to put up with cranky college students all morning—“

“Buddy,” Lance cuts him off, holding his hands out placatingly. “Relax, it’s okay. We all have days like that, it’s cool.”

Keith doesn’t look convinced. “Not really.”

“Look, man, I’ve had to deal with worse. Like, _way_ worse. Like, sleep-deprived, hangry, give-me-my-coffee-now-or-I’ll-eat-your-fingers worse. Don’t feel so bad.”

That probably wasn’t the best thing to say, because Keith’s face twists into something so endearingly guilty and sympathetic at the same time that Lance can’t help but giggle.

“Okay, here, I accept your apology. Is that better?”

“A little,” Keith mutters, and Lance snorts.

“Seriously, don’t worry about it. Good luck with your project. I’ll see you next time.” He half-turns toward the register again, and then pauses. Keith is watching him curiously when he glances back at him one more time. “But for the record, I like smiley, friendly artist Keith better than frowny, grumpy artist Keith.”

And then he finally rips himself away from their little bubble and hurries back to his place behind the register, just in time to take the order of the next customer.

(Hunk would tell him later, how he missed the way that Keith’s face flushed, and he smiled, and bit his lip and tucked his hair behind his ear yet again before returning to his project.)

 

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

 

Keith doesn’t make an appearance during the next couple of days.

A tiny part of Lance worries that it’s because he scared him off, what with implying that he’d basically been watching him long enough to bring him a free drink and be nosy about his work. The logical part of him suggests that he’s probably just been busy with the project and hasn’t had time to stop by, even for a coffee break.

“Is it weird if I say I miss him?” Lance sighs, arms dangling from the ledge of the counter, cheek pressed to its cold surface.

It’s Saturday morning. He and Hunk don’t normally work on weekends, but with finals coming up soon, they’re more than happy to pick up some extra hours so they can make more money to splurge on fast-food and ice cream during their late-night study sessions. Besides, weekends are slow, and much less stressful than weekdays. At the most, small groups trickle in and out every half hour or so, but it never comes close to the dreaded seven am rush on any other day.

Hunk is poking around in the espresso machine, cleaning out loose beans that have managed to spill out of the hopper. “For you? No.”

Lance ignores the playful jab and sighs wistfully. “I hope he’s doing okay. He had to do that whole giant project by himself.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

Lance sighs again.

Hunk tosses a bean at him and it bounces harmlessly off the side of his head. “Are you still planning on giving him your number?”

“I don’t know,” Lance mumbles, staring forlornly at one of the torn flyers pasted on the campus bulletin board on the other side of the shop. “Do you still think I should?”

“I think you should decide soon,” Hunk shrugs nonchalantly, tossing the stray beans into the trash can and wiping his hands on his apron. “Preferably, within the next fifteen seconds or so.”

Lance makes a face at the flyer. “Why?” Hunk doesn’t respond. Lance frowns when he pulls a milk carton out of the fridge and starts to fill up a steaming pitcher. “Didn’t you just make yourself a drink? Why are you—”

“Hi, Lance.”

Lance lets out what is probably the most undignified squawk yet and jerks away from the counter so fast he thinks he’s given himself whiplash. And then he has to do a double-take when he sees the person standing on the other side, eyebrows raised in alarm. Lance’s neck hurts.

“Keith! Hey! I, uh—hi!”

“Very smooth,” he hears Hunk say under his breath. His foot isn’t within range this time though, so Lance ignores him.

“Sorry,” Keith is saying, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh no, it’s okay,” Lance assures him quickly. “You just surprised me, is all.”

Keith offers a tiny smile. “I guess that makes us even, then.”

Lance grins, his heart stuttering when Keith’s own smile grows. “I guess so.”

“I didn’t know you worked weekends.”

 _Does that mean he’s looked for me before?_ Lance thinks, trying to ignore the hopeful glimmer in his chest. “I don’t, normally. Hunk and I are just trying to make some extra cash before exams.”

Keith hums in acknowledgment, and then blinks as Hunk reaches past Lance and slides a cup toward him. “Here you go, Keith. On me this time.”

“Oh.” Keith’s head snaps up. “Oh no, you really shouldn’t—I should pay—”

“Dude, it’s free coffee,” Lance says, nudging the cup a bit closer to Keith. “Just take it. I’m pretty sure you’ve earned it, anyway.”

Keith huffs a small laugh, finally accepting the cup and pulling it toward himself. “Thanks, then. I think.”

“How’d your project go?” Lance asks. Partly because he genuinely wants to know, and partly because he’s fishing for excuses to keep a conversation going.

Keith actually chuckles at that. “It went really well, actually. I managed to finish it in time, and when I told my professor what happened he was really impressed I’d done it all on my own.” He hides a satisfied smile behind his cup. “Plus, everyone else in my group got zeroes for not contributing anything.”

“Ah,” Lance hums, nodding sagely. “The sweet taste of victory.”

“Something like that,” Keith agrees, setting the cup back down.

“Congrats, man. I’m happy for you.”

Keith ducks his head a little. “Thanks.”

And then it happens. The thing, he does it again, he bites his lip and brushes some hair behind his ear. Hunk isn’t there to see it this time, he’s wandered off into the back somewhere, probably in an effort to get Lance to make a move.

Lance doesn’t realize that he’s staring until Keith turns to glance over his shoulder, gaze sweeping across the store before coming back to Lance. He starts fiddling with his jacket zipper again and clears his throat.

“So, uh, what are you up to for the rest of the day?”

Lance’s immediate thought: _why does he want to know. Wait, why does he—wait._

“Nothing in particular,” Lance responds. “Why?” Does he sound too eager? Maybe he sounds too eager.

His heart skips a beat when Keith glances over his shoulder again, and—okay, that’s hair tuck number two, and—is he nervous? He looks nervous. Why is he nervous?

“Well, I was—wondering.” Keith shuffles in place a little. He clears his throat again. Lance stares. “I was wondering, if maybe. Um.”

Lance feels himself teetering forward slightly in anticipation. “Yeah?”

Hair tuck number three. “I mean, I was thinking maybe… if you wanted, we could—” Keith swallows and takes a deep breath. “I was wondering if you wanted to—”

They’re both startled out of the conversation by a loud burst of laughter, and they both look back to see a small group entering the shop.

 _Nonononono,_ Lance thinks desperately, willing the group to wheel around and walk out. They don’t. _You guys are_ not _ruining this for me!_

“If I wanted to what?” Lance presses.

Keith turns back to him, eyes wide and cheeks flushed pink, and that’s when Lance knows he’s lost the momentum. “Oh, I—nothing. It’s nothing. It can wait.” He steps away from the counter and Lance feels his heart sink. “Uh, I’ll see you next time—”

“I get off at eleven,” Lance blurts.

Keith freezes. Lance can practically feel his cheeks turning red. The group behind Keith is getting closer, although now that Lance is here, he’s not quite sure what he had been expecting Keith to do with this information. That, and he could have been completely misreading this situation in the first place.

Only something that looks a lot like determination flashes suddenly through Keith’s eyes, and he reaches out to snatch one of the sharpies from their cup and the last receipt still dangling from printer. Lance watches, nonplussed, as Keith flattens it out and scribbles something across the paper before shoving it into his hands, locking eyes with him.

“For when you get off.”

Lance flounders, and then glances down to see seven digits written across the paper. “Oh,” he says dumbly.

Keith pulls away (hair tuck number four), steps away from the counter (a _really_ cute blush still dusting his cheeks), and bites his lip to hold back a smile. “See you later, Lance.” And then he turns to leave, before Lance has a chance to respond.

Lance just stares at Keith’s quickly retreating back, and only manages to snap out of his sudden daze just before he gets out the door. “Wait, Keith!” he calls. Keith practically skids to a stop and wheels around, his expression almost too hopeful for Lance’s poor heart to handle. Lance holds up Keith’s cup. “Your coffee!”

Keith might swear under his breath, and Lance grins as he hurries back to the register. “Sorry,” he breathes out, reaching for the cup. The incoming group has paused at a table, setting their things down.

“Waitwaitwait.” Lance retracts the cup and uncaps his Sharpie, hastily scrawling his number on it and then handing it over. “Just in case.”

“Okay.” Hair tuck number five. Lance is really going to die. Keith smiles again, shy but giddy and eager all at once. “Bye.”

“Bye,” Lance echoes, clutching the receipt paper closer to his chest.

He smiles at Keith all the way out.

Hunk returns from the back, takes one look at Lance, and breathes out an enormous sigh of relief.

“It’s about time.”

(Lance calls Keith later, as soon as he clocks out at the end of his shift. Keith asks if he’d like to go get lunch. Lance says yes.)

**Author's Note:**

> it's not mentioned but lance is a marine biology major in here and hunk is mechanical engineering hehe
> 
> anna & cato while reading over the draft: is this a self-insert  
> me: yes
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.taxashi.tumblr.com)!  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thespacenico/)!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thespacenico)!  
> 


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